


A Christmas Gift

by Lady_Angel_Fanwriter



Series: Richard and Vivien Eng [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Richard Armitage - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Love, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6998038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Angel_Fanwriter/pseuds/Lady_Angel_Fanwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months have passed since Richard Armitage has presented Vivien to the world as his fiancée and now the two of them are going to spend their first Christmas night together; each one has prepared a really special gift for the other one, but in the end, the true gift is oneself to the other…<br/>Inspired by a picture, it is a short story with no pretension which sole intent is to entertain with a “theme”.<br/>(This one shot is an ideal sequel of "An Early Autum Night's Dream" but can be read as a stand-alone)<br/>P.S.: English is not my native language and this story hasn't been yet beta-read by any English-speaking person, so please forgive the mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Gift

 

 

**A Christmas Gift**

Richard had spent most of the day, included lunch, at the London recreational centre for problematic children of an association he had become a supporter of since the year before, where he had read – or rather _performed_ – fairy tales and poems and sung Christmas songs with the kids who frequented it. The association had asked its supporters – famous or not – if they wanted to cooperate for free and he had given his availability: he was always very sensitive to subjects involving juvenile needs and was happy to volunteer and give his help whenever he could. He hadn’t received any economic reward, but the emotional one was thousand times more satisfying, made of amusement and sentiments.

He hurried out and got on the car, keen to go home and then go to Vivien to spend Christmas Eve with her. Since they got together, he felt almost _lost_ without her; the feeling sometimes scared him, because he had never been so attached, so psychologically and sentimentally dependant on someone, not even with Belle (*), the only woman whom he thought to be enough in love to go and live together. Maybe with the progressing age – after all, he was forty-four! – he became better at understanding whom he could trust and whom not, and he _knew_ he could trust Vivien completely, at the point to deliver his heart over to her with no fear, sure that she would take care of it, as he was taking care of hers. It was this the way he conceived love and he knew that so it was for Vivien, too: the complete certainty that the other person would support you always and for all and therefore the consequent complete lack of worry to confide in her or he.     

The intense London traffic annoyed him, but he tried to stay calm, because getting angry wouldn’t solve anything; but he would have liked to have photon torpedoes available to clean up the way and arrive to Vivien at maximum speed. As he realized the way he had thought about it – _photon torpedoes_ – he chuckled: she was a great fan of Star Trek, much more than him who loved it, too, and evidently she had influenced him enough to make him think thematically.  

Laughing made him forget his irritability and allowed him to drive serenely to home. A _collateral effect_ of his relationship with Vivien, he thought, amused: she _did him good_ , in every sense.

When, six months earlier, he introduced her to the world as his fiancée, at the beginning Vivien had been a little hard hit by the very demanding female fans of the _Armitage Army_ , as his supporters called themselves: they would have liked for him somebody more beautiful, richer, more famous, possibly an artist like him, singer, dancer, painter, writer. Little by little though, even thanks to some interviews they had both together and one or the other alone, they had accepted her: they understood that she made him happy because she loved him truly, and that she wasn’t with him for opportunism or for money like someone had insinuated; on the contrary, a great number of the fans identified themselves with Vivien because she was one of them, an ordinary woman who had the immense luck to win her dream-man’s love. Not that he thought to be a dream-man, he considered himself a normal man, excluding his profession: his natural modesty hindered him to see himself as the excellent person he was in reality. 

Finally he arrived at destination; Richard used the remote control to open the garage door and parked, then he got off the car and, after shutting the door, he hurried into the house for a quick shower, not for real need, but rather to have an excuse to use the shower gel with sandalwood perfume he bought as soon as he learned that Vivien was crazy about that fragrance.

Choosing the evening’s attire, he opted for a total black one – shirt and slacks – somewhat Guy of Gisborne style: occasionally he had fun performing for her his characters, recreating a sketch which invariably ended up with them clutching each other kissing breathtakingly… and normally they didn’t stop there. A cheeky smirk curved his lips at that thought.

He threw a glance at the bag on the bed: it contained his Christmas gift for Vivien. Knowing she would greatly appreciate it, he chose a reproduction of the lovely pendant named _Evenstar_ from the first trilogy of Tolkienian movies by Peter Jackson. He ordered it in New Zealand, from the jeweller who had the license from Warner Brothers, in white gold because he knew Vivien liked it more than the yellow one; he had been tempted to ask for true diamonds instead of zircons normally used into the standard, but the valour – even if for him it would be a more than acceptable expense – would have her embarrassed and this he surely didn’t want to happen.

The bag contained also a Santa Claus cap which he wanted to wear to make a little joke that evening; the idea made him smile. Vivien loved to laugh and joke around, she was a sunny creature who took life lightly but being everything but superficial. It was maybe this the trait he loved most in her, because it was the perfect counterbalance to his inclination to peevishness and melancholy.

Finally he put on his coat – even if there were only a few yards from his door to Vivien’s, it was icy that evening and there was no need to risk a cold – and, taking the bag, got off the house.

*   *   *

Vivien pushed the switch and the Christmas tree lighted up; satisfied, she backed to admire it. Every year she put a great effort in the Christmas decorations, beginning from the tree which dominated the parlour, full of ribbons and red and golden balls and crowned by a five pointed star, up to the external decorations which were a sparkling triumph of led lights; she also adopted her mother’s Italian use to mount a nativity scene, a tradition unknown in the UK and which therefore always rose the guests’ curiosity.

That year it would be a really special Christmas, for her: for eight months she was together with one of the currently most praised actors in the world, Richard Armitage, one of the protagonists of the cinematographic saga _The Hobbit_. It was the first Christmas after a number of years that she spent with a partner: since Eric, her ex boyfriend, she had been alone for a long time. She almost resigned herself to loneliness, even if it was hard for her, when suddenly this actor had arrived, who was not only both very handsome and talented, but who was first of all an extraordinary person, a man of exquisite kindness and exceptional generosity. If initially she had lost her head for the character he won her over, Thorin Oakenshield, as she arrived to know the man behind the actor she had lost her head for him. If someone would have told her that Richard would reciprocate her, even her mother, she would never have believed it; instead, the initial fondness, after becoming friendship, had become love. Vivien still found it difficult to believe; probably she would never be able to get completely rid of the sensation that it was only a magnificent dream…

It was Christmas Eve; under the tree there were the presents, among them the one she had chosen for Richard, that was a silver frame with a picture of her, one that she made expressly shoot by a photographer, who caught her with an expression half sweet and half mischievous which showed perfectly her personality. In fact, in that precise moment she was thinking of Richard and so she wasn’t surprised that it had been reflected on her face.

It was almost evening and soon Richard would arrive to have dinner with her; Vivien had cooked a pasta in the oven, following her mother’s recipe, with a real bolognaise ragout and a real béchamel, not the slope that sometimes could be found in those which claimed to be Italian restaurants abroad. To go with the food, now in the warmer, a bottle of great Pinot noir, Richard’s favourite wine.

The table was already set, with a red Christmas cloth, dishes in fine Italian ceramic, boule glasses apt to the wine and a couple of red candles in golden candlesticks; from the stereo flowed soft music; the wood stove, with a transparent door which allowed to see the flames, was loaded and lit, and in front of it many pillows were scattered on a soft carpet, where she and Richard could lie down comfortably to listen to music, watch TV or… do other things. So everything was ready for a romantic evening.

Vivien went upstairs to change: she had bought elegantly sexy underwear, red with white lace, of the type her mother wittily called _representation underwear_. She couldn’t wait to show it to Richard, what obviously meant that from that moment on it would remain her on for a very short time… The thought made her smile: she felt naughty, but thrilled, too. She felt like never having been so in love in all her life and when she stopped and thought about it, she almost felt ashamed, because she thought it to be inappropriate at forty-one to feel like a twenty years old girl, forgetting that love has no age and is always legitimate…

She put on also a matching chemise and black microfiber thigh highs, more appropriate to the occasion as panty hoses; above, she put on a nice purple sweater in soft mohair wool with a black bell-bottom skirt, long just above the knee.

She was arranging her hair when she heard the doorbell ring; she and Richard had exchanged their house-keys, but out of respect both rang before entering a house which was, after all, the other person’s house and not their own one. She put down the brush and exited the bathroom; arriving on top of the stairs, she saw him while he has closing the door behind himself.

“Welcome!”, she launched him, before descending the steps as fast as her high heeled shoes allowed her.

Richard turned and smiled to her: she was gorgeous, like always, or so she appeared to his adoringly eyes. He put down the bag and opened his arms to embrace her; she jumped into them.

“Welcome”, she repeated.

“Thank you”, the actor murmured, then he lowered his head and searched her mouth with his for a lovingly and passionate kiss.

“I missed you horribly, today”, he declared in a low voice, when their lips parted.

“And I missed you the same”, she answered, kissing him again.

When they finally separated, Vivien exhorted him:

“Come on, take that coat off, dinner’s ready and I’m hungry!”

“Me too… but of you”, Richard declared with a gaze full of promises. Vivien felt suddenly hot: what was it that this man was able to send her hormones swirling just by looking at her…? But the most incredible thing was that, when she told him she thought he was tremendously sexy, he shook his head and laughed incredulous. How could he be unaware of his sex appeal? Yet it seemed exactly so; or otherwise, even if he was aware of it, he was too a gentleman and too modest to take advantage of it.

“What a rascal!”, she pretended to scold him, but she wasn’t able to resist and giggled, “If we eat, we’ll have some _fuel_ to consume later…”

Richard laughed at the unlikely witticism; while she went back to the kitchen, he took off the coat and hang it, then he went to the parlour, where he positioned the packet with the necklace under the tree and lay the bag, still containing the Santa Claus cap, on the nearby armchair; finally he reached Vivien, who was finishing to pour the wine into a decanter. Noticing his total black attire, she raised one eyebrow:

“Must I call you _sir_?”, she joked, evidently referring to Gisborne. He laughed:

“Only if you like to”, he replied. Vivien laughed, too:

“Let’s see”, she said then, handing him the decanter, “Take it and put it on the table, please, I come with the pasta.”

A few minutes later, Vivien arrived in the dining room with two full dishes; Richard had lit the candles and waited for her standing. When she had the dishes put down on the table, he pulled the chair for her, like the perfect gentleman he was.

Feeling like a princess – like he was always able to make her feel – Vivien shot him a thanking smile and sat, while he took a seat in front of her.

“What a tempting aroma”, Richard commented, inhaling the scent of the pasta.

“One hundred percent Italian recipe”, Vivien revealed, laying her napkin on her knees, “Tell me what you think about it…”

He tried it, savouring the morsel slowly.

“Delicious”, he stated, and then he looked at her intensely, “Never as much as you are, anyway…”

Vivien felt again hot.

“Stop looking at me that way”, she murmured.

“Why, how do I look at you?”, Richard provoked her with the impudent smirk that contributed to make his Guy of Gisborne so popular.

“You know it!”, she protested; the actor raised his eyebrows with an innocent expression.

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh come on… I don’t believe you”, but as he continued to pretend not to understand, she explained clearly, “You look at me like you would eat me!”

Richard’s grin grew wider.

“Exactly what I’m going to do… later”, he promised. Vivien felt her heart leap into her throat while all her being – flesh and soul – trembled in a shiver of anticipation.

“You’re a scoundrel, Armitage”, she accused him faintly; but she wasn’t the type to undergo numbly, even if only by game, and so she began immediately to think about an adequate _revenge_. First of all she diverted his attention on other subjects:

“How was it, at the centre?”, she asked him.

Richard lighted up, losing immediately the impudent face he set up – which was a complete fake, because his personality was everything but insolent – and he began to tell her about the hours he has spent with the girls and boys of the recreational centre. She listened with pleasure: it was a really great thing that such a celebrity like Richard Armitage, famous all over the world and adored by hundreds of thousands of fans, offered himself with no second thought to get some funny hours to needy people.

While he was speaking, the actor poured some wine for her and for himself, then he stopped a moment to make a toast and take a sip; in the meantime, Vivien had a _very_ impish idea to perform her _revenge_ , but she was careful not to let anything show.

“I’m happy you had such a nice day”, she declared finally, as Richard ended his report, “I hope I’ll let you spend an equally nice evening… and night”, she added with a smirk which mirrored the one he had addressed her earlier. While she was speaking, she removed a shoe and reached out with the foot; in a sexy caress, she climbed his inner calf. She never ever played footsie in all her life, she only saw it on TV or on movies, and she was curious to see if the outcome was the one she had always seen.

Richard jumped, almost losing his fork; his reaction flattered Vivien, who let her foot climb between his legs, but before she reached the centre of his masculinity, he stopped her.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me”, he panted in a hoarse voice.

“Probably not”, she admitted with an innocent expression, equal to the one he had earlier; she pulled back her foot, “You’ll have to explain it to me, then…”

In Richard’s blue eyes flared a burning flame as he focused them on her brown ones.

“I will… oh yes, I will”, she assured her. Vivien gulped, realizing that her revenge had turned against her: Richard’s sentence sounded like a menace. A _delicious_ menace…

“Okay”, she whispered; trying to assume a demeanour, she stood up and began to clear the table, “Shall we drink coffee in the parlour?”

“Great idea”, he accepted, standing up, he too, and helping her; glancing at him, she noticed a bulge in his trousers, evidence of his arousal, and felt herself aroused, too, but acted as normal as she could.

While she was loading the dishwasher, Richard disappeared; slightly perplexed, Vivien started the appliance and switched on the coffee machine – a true espresso coffee machine – then, awaiting it to heat up, she went to look for the actor.

She found him in the parlour; she noticed that he had loaded the wood stove and now he was sitting on the armchair next to the Christmas tree; on his head he wore Santa Claus’ white and red cap.

“Come, child”, he invited her in a deep voice, “Sit here and tell me what you most desire for a Christmas present.”

In his eyes sparkled a naughty light which contradicted resoundingly the earnestness of his tone and expression.

Vivien gaped for a moment; then a slow smile curved her lips: Richard wanted to play? Well, she would certainly not back away…

She approached him, wiggling slightly on her hips in a sexy walk which drew the actor’s attention, and sat on his lap, surrounding his neck with her arms.

“Hey, Santa Claus, I didn’t know you were so handsome… and sexy”, she said in a low voice. Richard wrought his arm around her waist and shoot her a smile.

“You think it seriously?”

Vivien bowed her neck and laid her mouth on his, nibbling at his lower lip and then caressing it with the tip of her tongue before kissing him appropriately and fervently for a very long minute.

“Is it enough answer?”, she asked in the end, backing away.

“Mmmmhhh… I don’t know, I could need you to repeat it”, he retorted, chuckling; he set upright his cap, which had slipped over one ear, and assumed again a sober expression, “Tell me then, child, what is the gift you want more for Christmas?”

Vivien caressed his cheek, letting all the love she felt for him shine through her gaze.

“Didn’t you realize it so far?”, she whispered. Richard hesitated a moment: he had an idea, but he was too modest to consider it valid.

“I’m not sure”, he admitted. She brushed the outline of his lips with one finger before answering quietly:

“All I want for Christmas is you.”

It was the title of a famous song by Mariah Carey dated some years ago; but it was also exactly what she was thinking. She didn’t care about any kind of presents, because the best one she could receive was precisely him, this man, a wonderful person under every point of view.

Richard took her hand and kissed her palm, reverently.

“Thank you”, he whispered, “but I’m _already_ yours… I have been since the moment I met your eyes.”

Speechless because of that romantic declaration, Vivien could do nothing else than hold him tight and search again his mouth.

“I love you”, she murmured on his lips, her voice full of emotion, before kissing him again.

Richard wrapped her in both his arms to hold her better and answered the kiss; in the beginning sweet, it became soon very passionate and full of a reciprocal need which wasn’t only physical, but much more, a longing to belong to each other which found it highest expression in the joining of their bodies in the love act.

Vivien pulled away her mouth from Richard’s; she looked into his eyes, where the flame of desire burned, being the specular reflection of her own desire, and felt her mouth going dry as from the stomach rose a swarm of butterflies gone crazy. She began unbuttoning his shirt; doing it, she ran the tip of her tongue across her lips, completely unaware of the erotic power of that gesture. Hearing him emit a soft groan, she looked at him in surprise; seeing him staring at her mouth, she understood immediately and so, this time with intention, she repeated the gesture, while she continued opening his shirt.

“You’re a real rascal”, Richard breathed. He stroke back, slipping his hands under her sweater and climbing to caress her breasts; with a sigh, she backed, giving him room and allowing him to touch her more easily.

In the meanwhile she had opened all buttons, uncovering the underlying black fleece t-shirt; with some contortion, she took his shirt off and let it fall to the ground, then she began to lift his t-shirt.

“Hey, what a hurry…”, the actor whispered, beginning from his part to lift her sweater; he took it off her head and threw it upon his shirt.

Vivien got back on track, freeing him from the t-shirt; then, preceding him, she took off her red chemise.

“Do you like it?”, she asked in a low voice, pointing at the bra.

“Very nice”, he said, admiring – more than the garment – the soft mounds it contained. He bent over and laid his lips on the hollow between her breasts, sinking his nose in those soft curves smelling of vanilla and white musk, a delicate but provocative fragrance she used to wear; then he ascended toward her neck, laying down light kisses on her chest, up to the silky skin of her throat, which he brushed tenderly with his lips, kissing then the point where he perceived the accelerated beating of her pulse.

“I love you”, he whispered in between kisses.  

Vivien felt her head whirling and, with a gasp, she grabbed Richard’s shoulders. He began to lower one strap, but at this point she stopped him.

“Wait”, she invited him. Reluctantly, the actor pulled back; Vivien stood up from his lap and, untying her skirt, she let it fall on the floor, staying there with only her underwear and the stockings.

Richard held his breath while he looked at her from head to toe; then, smiling with that deliciously cheeky smile of her, she turned slowly around. Seeing her _B-side_ just half-covered by the knickers, he inhaled abruptly and his slacks became definitely too tight.

“You’re stunning”, he said. The sound of his voice, an octave lower than usual, let a warm shiver slip down Vivien’s spine. She extended her hand, inviting him to stand up, and when he did, she wrapped her arms around his waist. Despite her high heels, she only reached as high as his chin. She bowed her head and kissed his chest, covering it with small kisses as he had done with her previously.

Richard closed his eyes, savouring her attentions; after a few moments, he startled because she took one of his nipples between her lips, licking softly at it, then he startled even harder when he felt her touching him intimately. By now, he was more than ready for her and, not being able to resist any longer, he teared off the cap, passed an arm around her shoulders and the other behind her knees and lifted her. Caught by surprise, Vivien emitted a small cry; she grabbed his neck while he carried her for the few steps necessary to reach the pillow-scattered carpet in front of the wood stove, through the transparent door of which the flames illuminated the room with their darting orange light.   

Richard placed one knee on the floor and eased down Vivien on the pillows; he stooped and kissed her lips, then he moved down on the neck, on the chest, continuing downward, on her pulsing abdomen, where he stopped a little to tease her bellybutton making her sigh; smiling secretly, he went again downward, stopping just above the edge of her knickers to move after that on the upper part of her thigh. At this point, he straightened himself and took off first her shoes and then her stockings, finally freeing himself from its own and lay down at Vivien’s side. He was about to embrace her, but she stopped him and pushed him on his back. With a seductive smile, she untied his trousers and took them off, leaving him with only his shorts, which were black as everything else.

“Aaahhh, tonight you’re really Guy of Gisborne, I see…”, Vivien giggled, and giving him no time to replicate, she began to lower them along his legs.

“Hey, this isn’t fair!”, he pretended to protest.

As she had eliminated the shorts, Vivien stroked his long muscular legs, climbing from the ankles along the calves and the thighs until she reached the symbol of his masculinity; she brushed it and Richard sighed in pleasure. But he didn’t allow her to linger there too long and, full of longing, he drew her into his arms, making her lay on him; he put a hand on her nape and lowered her face on his to seal her mouth with another searing kiss, which she reciprocated with equal fervour. Slowly, he caressed her long brown hair, which fell on her back and partially around their faces, down to her waist; then he went back and unhooked her bra. At this point, he reversed their positions and finished to undress her. It was his turn to caress her, tenderly and audaciously at one time; he felt her tremble and moan amorously under his touch and felt proud, the proudness of the man aware to be able to give pleasure to the woman he loves.

Her eyes closed, Vivien felt like bursting up in fire, so much was she burning; the stove could have been easily out, because the heat she thought their bodies were emanating would be enough.

“Look at me, love”, he exhorted her in a low voice. She opened her eyes and plunged them into Richard’s, two pieces of sky in which she felt happily lost; she stretched out her arms to him in a mute invitation. Accepting it, Richard laid down on her and, keeping his gaze into Vivien’s, he pushed himself slowly into her body, making them one thing in flesh as well as they were in soul and heart. Both emitted an ecstatic sigh.

For a few moments they stayed still, enjoying the mutual warmness, which went beyond the mere physical one; then they began to move in unison in the dance of love, a dance ancient as the world and yet always new and exciting, pushing and backing in synchrony and empathy, giving and taking pleasure and emotions.

Richard maintained a quiet rhythm because he adored being one with Vivien and wanted it to last as long as possible; she accepted and therefore they moved leisurely, making love to one another not only with their bodies but also with the sentiment they shared. Little by little, they climbed to the high point, but as they approached the common goal, it began to be more and more difficult to control themselves. Their breaths became more laboured, their heartbeats more irregular; their blood began to roar in their ears and their moans became louder.

Vivien felt the acme arriving and tensed in the imminence of the explosion, then she arched toward him and emitted a long, excruciating love lament; an instant later Richard reached her in the ecstasy.

Gradually, the tremors of their bodies and souls subsided, their breath returned regular, their pulse slowed down. Vivien stroked lightly Richard’s back; he lifted himself a bit on his elbows and enthralled looked at her still pleasure stricken face, her hair disorderly scattered on the pillow and carpet. He bent and kissed her lips.

“I love you, Vivien Grosworth”, he said in a low tone. At the sound of his voice, so full of emotion, she melted and felt a lump in her throat. Gulping it down, she breathed:

“And I love you, Richard Armitage.” 

They stayed there for some time, exchanging kisses and caresses, in the tenderness that between them always followed the shared passion. Finally, they parted, reluctantly, returning to be two distinct beings.

Thinking it useless to dress again completely, they chose to wear bathrobes – Richard bought one specifically to leave it at Vivien’s, like she had one at his place for the times she slept by him – and then, after having reloaded the stove, they sat on the pillows; awaiting midnight, they had fun playing Bingo, raffling pralines but ending up stealing them jokingly one from another.

As midnight stoke, Vivien merrily discarded the last sheet and threw her arms around Richard’s neck, kissing him soundly on the mouth.

“Merry Christmas, my love”, she said.

“Merry Christmas to you, sweetheart”, answered he.

“The best of my life”, she stated with a bright smile.

“The best of mine, too”, Richard assured her with a matching smile. Vivien loosed her embrace and stood up to approach the tree; he did the same.

“You first”, Vivien told him, taking the packet and handing it to him. Richard accepted it thanking her, then he unwrapped it, opening the box and taking out the content. He looked at the beautiful glazed silver frame, with Swarovski mounted in one of the upper corners, and at the picture it contained.

“Beautiful”, he murmured, then he specified, “The frame: you, instead, are striking.”

She blushed in pleasure.

“And this is for you”, the actor went on, taking his gift for her and handing it over. From the dimension and consistency, Vivien guessed it was a jewel and hoped he didn’t spend too much, as he did when he bought her three evening gowns all in once. When she saw what it was, tears welled up in her eyes: she had always desired that the man she loved gave her a reproduction of Arwen’s love token to Aragorn, but it never occurred to her boyfriend of the time and then their relationship ended some years later.

“Oh my, Richard… it’s… I… don’t…”

Realizing she was stammering, she shut her mouth; incapable of speaking, she embraced and kissed him with such a passionate sweetness the actor felt his knees turn to jelly.

“It’s wonderful”, Vivien managed finally to say, then she shook her head and explained better, “Not only the jewel in itself, but that you thought about giving me exactly _this one_.”

He shrugged, trying like always to make it less than it was:

“I knew how much you like it, it didn’t take much…”

She stroked his cheek, tenderly; then she gave him the necklace to let him tie it around her neck. Seeing it shining on her chest, Richard thought that it was absolutely perfect, on her.

“You’re my Arwen”, he said, taking her hands and kissing them one after the other. Vivien smiled at him, deeply moved.

“And you’re my Aragorn”, she replied. He raised an eyebrow:

“What? Wasn’t I your Thorin?”

“Hey, but Thorin isn’t with Arwen”, she protested. Richard laughed and took her in his arms.

“Then we must ask Pete (**) to shoot again _The Lord of the Rings_ with me instead of Viggo Mortensen and you instead of Liv Tyler!”

Vivien laughed heartily on that gag and laid her head on his shoulder, dazed by happiness. As it often happened to her, she had the feeling that it was simply too wonderful to be real and that it was only a fantastic dream; but Richard’s arms around her contradicted that feeling, proclaiming it to be a fabulous reality.

With a content smile, she pressed herself on her man’s chest.

 

THE END  

 

 

(*) Belle Dawson, dancer and Richard’s colleague in the musical _Cats_ ; but it is not certain that she was the woman with whom he has lived, because Richard never disclosed publicly her name.

 

(**) Peter Jackson

 

 


End file.
